


Contact

by aijouu



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Cell Phones, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26250424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aijouu/pseuds/aijouu
Summary: Just a tear-jerking oneshot that made my heart hurt; I take requests by the way! ♡
Relationships: Levi/Erwin Smith
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Contact

So far, I’ve been through nine phones.

I broke all of them, not from water damage or from the phone overheating or from dropping them accidentally, but from breaking them, slamming them, snapping them in half, throwing them, and obliterating them physically. I broke every last one of them with my own hands, and I’ve spent more money on cellphones this year alone than I have on my groceries in the last four. The thing is, I know how expensive they are, and yet, I don’t hesitate to destroy them. I go back and buy another one because I need a phone for many things but primarily work. I always waste another fifty dollars on the warranty, because I know I’ll be back, to buy another one, again, the following month, but truthfully, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

I’m contacting the phone number of my dead husband.

I lost him last year. I lost him due to my own mistakes, and I will regret them for the rest of my life. Levi and I had been celebrating our twelve-year anniversary, and though usual couples go out on a romantic evening date, my husband and the word ‘usual’ never co-existed in the same sentence. We ended up visiting the bar in which we met, and we met during our post-college years. I never spotted him from across the room and he never bought me a drink but, we ran into each other in a bathroom that stunk of a mixture of urine, stale beer, and smoke. I stood in front of a urinal, doing my business, and minding my business, and I will never forget the dark lipstick he wore and the piercings in his nose and the eyeliner that blacked his face when he approached me. 

I had just returned home after serving several years in the Marines and was celebrating my arrival by going out for some drinks with my former friends and squadmates and so, I was still wearing my uniform. I expected a few nods in pride and encouragement, a few smiles, a few thanks for my services but, he insulted me, calling me a “communist cock-sucking piece of shit pig”, who quote-on-quote, “only signed up for nonexistent valor and respect because you’re in need of validation and incapable of getting it anywhere else”, and as he spit on my boots, I never thought that I’d fall in love with a man who not only slandered random strangers, believed in such nonsense, cursed like a sailor, and did it all in a dim, swampy, men’s restroom of a cheap bar, but he did, and I fell for him hard. 

I don’t have any idea what I said to him, but I remember every word he spoke to me. I have no recollection of what came out of my mouth. I was just staring at the beauty that snarled at me. He wore spikes, and chains, and honestly looked venomous with how much black he was wearing in comparison to how light the tone of his skin was but, I never snapped out of it until he told me: “Put your dick away, asshole.”, and I did. We talked the whole night, or rather, I followed him the whole night, and he pulled a knife on me and threatened to kill me, and I would like to believe I told him not to but, miraculously, I ended up with his phone number written in the palm of my hand in red ink.

That’s how I met my everything, and his phone number had never changed since then.

We were married for twelve years, and in those twelve years, his beliefs changed, his personality changed, his overall appearance changed, the way he spoke to me and addressed me changed, and he loved me the same way I loved him and  _ God  _ did I love that man more than anything else in the world.

I ended up drinking more than I had, that night, on our anniversary. I thought it was okay, because Levi and I agreed that we’d Uber, or walk even, but, Levi said he wanted to go home. I asked him why and he said he was tired and when I gave him the option of sleeping in the backseat, he insisted on sleeping in our bedroom, within our covers, between our pillows. I thought it was a joke, and with smiles, we performed faulty, comedic sobriety tests on one another and it was funny until our SUV was in the middle of the road, upside down, with the entire right side of the car torn off, and Levi was in the passenger seat.

I killed him. 

The doctors never said I did. The coroner never said I did. The priest never said I did. The therapist never said I did. Kuchel never said I did but I knew I did. I don’t remember what happened that night, mostly because while I was in the hospital recovering, healing, and sleeping, Levi was in the Emergency Room right beside me, fighting for his life, and I had no clue of it. When I woke up, he was first person I asked for, first person I questioned about, first person I wanted to know about, and so, within thirty minutes of me opening my eyes, I found out that my husband had been pronounced dead three days ago, as I laid there, in the ICU, and just like that, my life changed.

I never cried the first day, nor did I the first month. It didn’t make sense to me. It didn’t sound real. It didn’t feel real because I swore that Levi was at home, sleeping beneath our silk blankets, in the kitchen preparing breakfast, or in the bathroom de-stressing himself from any and all occurrences that happened at work with bleach, disinfectant, and a pair of heavy-duty rubber gloves.

It didn’t settle until I was standing over his casket. 

I looked at him, and he didn’t open his eyes. I said his name, and he didn’t open his eyes. I touched him, and he didn’t open his eyes and upon realizing what had happened, and what I’d done, and that I was now alone, and without the other remaining half of my heart, I cried, and I cried so hard my head ached, and my chest burned, and body winced, and I never stopped.

Losing Levi is the most painful thing I’ve had to deal with, in my life, and I’ve been shot before.

There were days I almost took my own life as well, days I begged a higher-power to take me, strike me down, put me out of this misery and living hell, days I starved, days I went without water, days I got down onto my hands and knees and pressed my forehead into the dirt and soil and prayed for my beloved to come back to me and promised that I shall repent for my sins and any wrongdoing I have done and one day, during the months of my suffering, my phone vibrated.

_ Reminder: Levi’s birthday. _

And that day, another thing clicked. I had been in my head and my thoughts and myself so much to where I’d forgotten the day my sweetheart was born and that was not something I could ever forgive myself for and I had never once thought and realized that when Levi died, he passed away alone. I know my husband, and I know him very well. He likes to know where I am. He likes to know what I’m doing. He likes to know my exact location and how long I will be there and around what time I will be back and though he disguises it as him just wanting to make sure dinner is ready by then, I know that he wants to know because he doesn’t enjoy being without my presence, and I know that in his final moments, he was calling for me, searching for me, pleading for me, and I was never there, and that day was the first day I texted him.

_ I’m sorry, Levi. I’m sorry, so sorry. _

It’s been a year since Levi passed on, and though I don’t text him every day like I used to, I text him, and call him, and leave voicemails for him regularly, as if he’d never left. I’m not sure if it’s a healthy coping mechanism but, I can’t help but think that one day, he’ll text me back. That one day he’ll answer the phone, in that adorably groggy voice of his, and ask why I chose to wake him up for no apparent reason on a Sunday morning just so I could tell him that I love him, and on most days, that’s what I text him.

_ I love you, kitten. I wish you were here with me. _

_ I love you, and I miss you. _

_ I could use one of your kisses. _

_ Sleeping in bed without you isn’t getting any better. _

_ I won’t take our ring off. _

_ I’m sorry I didn’t get to visit you today, there was a hurricane warning and they told me to go back home. _

_ Did you like the flowers I left you? _

_ Your clothes still smell like you. _

_ I love you, Levi. _

Throughout all the numbers I’ve had, the digits of Levi’s phone number never changed, and they remained in my memory; stapled to the wall of my skull, written in red ink, on the palm of my left hand, but in the last few weeks, I’ve decided to move out of our home. The home Levi and I lived in was so Levi and I could live in it and without Levi living there, being in that space without him didn’t feel right, didn’t feel good, and despite how many tender memories we shared in it, it was outnumbered and poisoned by the negatives that I’ve created. Today was the final moving day, and I’d saved our bedroom for last. I’d packed out all of my clothes and belongings, settled on getting a new bed, took apart the dresser, took the television off of its wall mount before loading it all onto the truck but now, as I opened the drawer of the nightstand, I was surprised to find a piece of Levi that I hadn’t been forced to give up yet.

His cellphone.

I should’ve known, really. Levi was never keen on taking his cellphone on dates or having it out when he and I were spending time together and I should’ve known that it was here, the whole time, but, the ringer was off. I pressed the home button, never expecting it to turn on after a year without use but, it did, and it powered up right away. My eyes were met with a picture of Levi and I, wearing smiles, and I felt my heart murmur as it was a picture he’d taken on one of our first, actual, sit-down, grown-up, non-alcohol induced dates. His cellphone never had a passcode, and as I swiped it open, a notification popped up on the screen in the form of a dark gray box.

_ Your iPhone cannot make or receive calls or access mobile data until it has been updated. Please contact your provider for more information. _

In the past year, I’ve sent Levi 792 messages, called him 312 times, left 99 voicemails, and not one of them went through, and made it to him.


End file.
